


Stranger in the Shell of a Lover

by dragongirlG



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bearded Steve Rogers, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Foreplay, Hopeful Ending, Identity Porn, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Power Imbalance, Sex Worker Bucky Barnes, Truck Driver Steve Rogers, Twink Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-14 20:03:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18059138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragongirlG/pseuds/dragongirlG
Summary: Bucky is a young truck stop sex worker in Brooklyn who's trying to save money for sisters' college fund. He doesn't usually get attached to his clients, but he finds himself making an exception for Steve, a regular who always treats Bucky with gentleness and respect. When Steve finds Bucky in the bathroom the night before Thanksgiving, injured due to rough treatment from another client, the boundaries of their relationship blur and leave them both wondering if there could be something more between them.Written for a prompt from the 2019 Hell Yeah Bottom Bucky Fest.Now with amoodboardby sarahcakes613.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WitchyLurker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchyLurker/gifts).



> Thank you to [witchylurker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchyLurker) for inspiring me with the original prompt through the 2019 Hell Yeah Bottom Bucky Fest! I never imagined myself writing a truckstop AU, but inspiration works in mysterious ways.
> 
> In this fic, I really wanted to address the underlying power differential between Bucky and his clients, including Steve. I felt it was important to acknowledge that Bucky is not always in a good position to say no. I have not gone into graphic detail about the encounter between Bucky and the other client in part 2, but I hope that I've been able to portray the issue respectfully. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story!

It starts like this: Bucky needs money to take care of his sisters.

They'd been placed in foster care after the car accident took their parents (and nearly took off Bucky's left arm). Most of the family's savings had gone into paying for Bucky's medical bills, the resulting court battles, and the funeral. There hadn't been enough for him to keep Lizzie, Joanie, and Becca in their expensive private school. There hadn't even been enough for him to be able to raise them in his shitty apartment.

So into foster care they went.

The good thing, at least, is that they haven't been separated. Everyone knows how much of a miracle that is, especially for a bunch of teens only a few years from aging out of the system. And the other good thing is that their foster parents—the Smiths—allow Bucky to visit frequently. He's surprised that they do. He's not exactly a role model, especially in his current line of work. Nevertheless, he's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

It's funny how life works out. Bucky used to be the child of every parent's dreams: smart, athletic, charming. He'd been accepted to MIT with a full ride scholarship, and he'd been all set to go. And then the accident had happened, and after over a year of hospitalization and physical therapy and family court and insurance claims, Bucky didn't want to be indebted to massive student loans for the rest of his life. Plus, he couldn't just pack up and go to Boston anymore. He needed to stay close to his sisters.

He tells himself it's all right. Becca's sixteen; she's smart as a whip, top of her class just like Bucky was, and already saving up money by working two part-time jobs. Josie's a year younger and far more introverted, but she's quietly acing every class and building a network of grateful students and their wealthy parents by volunteering as a peer tutor. Lizzie's the youngest at fourteen, social and snarky and just a little too interested in boybands, but Bucky will do anything to protect her childhood for as long as he can. He's hoping the extra money he makes will help send all three of them to college. It'll never be enough, but at least it'll get them part of the way there.

The hum of wheels on pavement brings Bucky back to his current situation. He's been lurking in the lot for a half hour, watching the sun flood the world in reds and oranges as it sinks below the horizon. It's September, and there's the slightest chill in the air. He wishes he'd brought his jacket tonight. He hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his tight jeans, ignores the twinge of pain in his left shoulder, and leans against the pole indolently, posing so that the light hits him just right. He tosses his hair back from his face—it's getting long now, brushing against his chin—and tilts so that he shows off the angle of his cheekbones and jaw, his pouty mouth, his lean legs, his wiry arms.

Bucky has a look— _twink_ , a term he only previously searched for in porn—and he knows it. He also knows it appeals to a lot of the guys who come around here looking for a little relief. Most of them aren't so bad; a lot of them just want a quick handjob or blowjob, something that lets them relax enough to get a few hours of shut-eye before they hit the road again. A few of them want more, and Bucky charges extra for that. He won't do anything rough or out of the ordinary, but he will stay the night and cuddle for an extra fee. He's too wary to fall asleep, no matter how grateful he is for the warmth. Once he spots the first fingers of dawn creeping into the sky, he slips out of the truck, stashes his cash deep in his pocket, and treks back home while most of the world is asleep.

No matter what his clients ask for, Bucky always makes sure that they use protection. And he carefully ignores the rings he spots glinting on their fingers, the smiling children in the photos taped to their dashboards, the crosses and crucifixes hanging on their necks as they clutch his hair, his waist, his wrist in pursuit of their own pleasure.

The truck putters to a stop at the edge of the lot, and a bearded man disembarks. He's tall, about 6 feet, dressed in worn jeans and a plaid shirt that don't do much to camouflage his thick muscles. Strands of his slicked-back hair fall over his forehead as he cracks his neck and shakes out his arms and legs. Bucky's eyes stray to the man's hands as they catch the light. No metal flashes back at him.

The man yawns loudly, his gaze drifting over the parking lot. His eyes sharpen once he spots Bucky, and he straightens in an almost military-like posture. Bucky tenses and braces himself as the man strides toward him with a single-minded focus. The man halts abruptly when he's about ten feet away, his brow furrowing as if he's suddenly lost his train of thought.

"Looking for something?" asks Bucky, tentatively stepping forward.

The man clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck. "Um," he says. His voice is deep and gravelly, and up close Bucky can make out his face more clearly. He looks like he's in his 30's. "Maybe some company?"

Bucky gives the guy a once-over. Despite all the bulk, he's not giving off a threatening vibe. He mostly seems lonely, a little shy. "I could use some company," says Bucky, taking another step closer. "How about we get in out of the cold?"

"Sure," says the man. He holds out his hand. "I'm Steve."

Bucky resists the urge to raise his eyebrows. He's never been offered a handshake before, and he rarely gets a name. He tentatively holds out his hand and shakes it back. "You can call me Jay," he answers. It's a little too close to his real name (James Buchanan Barnes), but it was the first thing he could think of when a client first asked, so now he's stuck with it.

"Jay," says Steve. "Nice to meet you."

"You too," says Bucky.

They stand there awkwardly looking at each other for a few minutes, and then Steve coughs and glances back at his truck. The trailer sports the Stark Industries logo, but the cab is unmarked. "It should still be warm, if you'd like to get in," he says. "You can stay there while I run inside. I'll clean up a little and grab a few things."

"Okay," says Bucky, lowering his shoulders, which had creeped up defensively without him noticing. He takes a deep breath and recites, "It's twenty dollars for a handjob, fifty for a blowjob, and one hundred and fifty for a fuck. Extra hundred for an all-night cuddle, whichever service you request. Protection is required, no matter what, and I don't do kisses on the lips."

"Understood," says Steve, and he leads the way to his truck. Bucky clambers into the front passenger seat and shuts the door, looking at Steve expectantly. Steve clears his throat. "You can wait here. I'll leave it unlocked. I'll be back in about ten minutes."

Bucky watches Steve dash across the parking lot at surprising speed, and then he climbs into the sleeper cab. It's a little bigger and cleaner than the ones he usually encounters. It's padded all around, and there's a neatly made mattress against the floor, sheets pulled tight with military precision and two pillows positioned perfectly against the wall.

Above the bed lies a series of wooden shelves containing neatly folded clothing divided by type, along with an assortment of cleaning supplies, a rice cooker, a crockpot, dried foodstuffs like Saltines, cereal, and ramen noodles, and some basic kitchen supplies and dishes. Across from the mattress, a small monitor, an e-reader, and a portable wifi router lie atop a mini-fridge, which contains a bag of baby carrots, a bag of celery, a jar of organic peanut butter, a couple jars of pickles, a half-gallon of whole milk, and a handful of mandarin oranges. A small navy blue trash can, recently emptied, sits next to the fridge.

Bucky frowns. He looks around, carefully poking around the shelves until he finds what he's looking for. Behind a pair of socks he finds a couple of dusty framed photographs. Both are in black and white. One features a smiling middle-aged woman in an old-time nurse's uniform that Bucky places in the 1930s. She bears a vague resemblance to Steve. The other is a portrait of a dark-haired woman with strong features and dark lipstick dressed in what looks like a military uniform.

Bucky wonders who the two women are to Steve. The first woman must be one of his relatives, maybe his grandmother. Maybe the second is his mother, when she was younger. Bucky normally doesn't care about his client's personal lives, but the weird thing is, these are the only two photos in the truck. Usually drivers have some relatively recent color photograph of their family or friends pinned on the dashboard. Steve seems to be a loner—a loner with some kind of military background.

Bucky's calculating the ease with which he can safely exit this situation if it goes wrong when a knock on the door makes him jump out of his skin.

"Jay?" Steve calls.

Bucky quickly puts the photos back and climbs back up to the front passenger seat. "Hey," he says, pasting on a smile. "Sorry, I was just checking out the space where we're going to do our business. You ready?"

Steve nods. He enters from the driver's side and hands Bucky a plastic grocery bag containing a box of condoms, a bottle of lube, a couple bottles of water, and oddly, two boxes of protein bars. "I got some, uh, supplies, just in case," said Steve, looking nervous.

"I'm well-stocked," says Bucky, his mouth curling up in amusement, "but thank you. It helps not to have to dig into my stash. I'm guessing the bars are for you?"

"Oh. Yeah, my metabolism's fast, and I get hungry easily."

"Okay," says Bucky. "What would you like? Handjob, blowjob, or a fuck? If you want a little bit of each, we can negotiate a price."

Steve blows out a breath. His cheeks are red. Bucky vaguely wonders if Steve is closeted. Maybe this is his first time with a man. Maybe he's very religious, even though his truck doesn't have any of the usual indicators. Or maybe this is the first time paying for sex, and the transactional aspect is bothering him. Bucky's only had one client who wanted him to roleplay a lover, and the experience had been so bizarre that Bucky had sworn off of ever doing it again.

He's about to suggest calling it off when Steve straightens his shoulders and clears his throat. "I'd like…um, I'd like all of it...with...foreplay? Maybe starting off with your hands, then your mouth, and then leading to, um, intercourse. Followed by…by sleeping together overnight."

Bucky does some quick math. He's never had a client request _all_ of his services before. "Okay," he said, "I'll give you a package deal. $300 for a little of everything, plus the overnight stay in your sleeper cab. Deal?"

"Deal," says Steve. He pulls his wallet out of his jeans pocket. "I, um, withdrew some cash," he says, and he carefully counts out two $100 bills and two $50 bills and hands them to Bucky. Then he throws in an extra $20. When Bucky points out that that's not the fee and that he hasn't actually done anything to be paid yet, Steve waves him off. "Consider it a tip. And I'd rather give it to you now before I forget."

Bucky narrows his eyes but shoves the cash into his pocket anyway. He's not about to turn down a little extra. He just hopes that it doesn't come with strings attached.

"So," says Bucky, "How do you want to do this? You want to head to the back?"

Steve nods. "Sure."

"After you," says Bucky.

Steve climbs over the seat into the sleeper cab. Bucky's eyes trail over his broad shoulders, the surprisingly narrow taper of his waist, and his perky ass. Bucky usually doesn't judge the attractiveness of his clients. Instead, he assesses how likely they are to respect his rules and how trustworthy they'll be when it comes to payment. But Steve's body type taps into some of Bucky's oldest fantasies, the ones that would make him search "gay beefy porn" and "muscle daddy" in the rare moments he had the house alone in high school. For the first time since the accident, he feels the faint stirrings of real libido.

He wonders how Steve will react. Most clients don't pay too much attention to Bucky getting off. He's gotten hard through prostate stimulation before, but he's never come with a client and he doesn't want to. Some clients actually seem relieved when they see that he's still soft.

"Jay? You all right?"

Bucky shakes himself out of his thoughts and flashes Steve a grin. "Yeah, sorry for the wait." He joins Steve on the mattress, suppressing a wince as he sets the plastic bag of supplies down and makes his left arm twinge. "You ready?"

Steve clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck, flushing. The small overhead light illuminates his dirty blonde hair, turning it almost golden. "You mind if I take off my clothes?"

Bucky raises his eyebrows. Usually clients are asking to take off _his_ clothes, not their own. "Go right ahead. You mind if I keep mine on?"

"No, I don't mind at all."

A little frisson of relief shoots through Bucky. Bucky hates exposing himself that way—the scars on his arm are hard to ignore, and being naked delays a quick exit—but he always complies. Fortunately, most of the time it's dark enough, and his clients are so busy groping him, that they barely notice anything unusual. Still, it doesn't stop his skin from crawling from the vulnerability.

Steve methodically unbuttons his plaid overshirt, folds it and places it on the shelf above his head, and then pulls off his too-tight white undershirt, which looked like it was in severe danger of ripping at any moment. His shoulders look like they've been carved out of marble, and a trail of golden-blond hair leads from his gloriously muscular chest down to his equally cut abs. He shucks off his shoes and socks, and then his jeans and briefs, revealing similarly sculpted legs and a thick, uncut cock at half-mast that proudly juts out from a nest of dark blond hair. Bucky's mouth waters as he takes in the figure in front of him, his cock perking up in interest, and he briefly wonders if he's dreaming.

"No, you're not," says Steve. His blush travels all the way down his body. "I'm real."

"I—I didn't mean to say that out loud," Bucky says quickly, and then he snaps his jaw shut before he can dig himself into a deeper hole.

Steve smiles sheepishly. "It's all right. I had a…a late growth spurt. Sometimes I can't even believe I look like this. I used to be – much smaller. Ninety pounds soaking wet, if you can believe it. I was sick a lot. But then I got better. Joined the military for a while, got discharged, and now…"

"And now you're here," says Bucky. He reaches out his hand and skims his fingers along Steve's palm to bring him back to the present. As curious as he is about Steve, he knows it's better not to hear too much and accidentally form an attachment. "Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to join me?"

Steve looks hesitant. "Should I lie down? Would that be easiest?"

Bucky shrugs. "Sure." He scoots to the edge of the mattress to give Steve room, and then climbs on top of Steve and straddles him, taking care not to brush the zipper of his jeans against Steve's bare crotch. The cab is tall enough that Bucky doesn't have to worry about hitting his head like he normally does. "This all right?"

"Yeah," said Steve. His jaw is clenched, and Bucky can practically feel him vibrating with tension.

Bucky gently places his hands on Steve's shoulders. "You seem tense."

Steve turns his face away, looking embarrassed. "Sorry."

"Hey." Bucky gently cups Steve's jaw, stroking his thumb along the surprisingly soft beard. "It's all right. It's just you and me here, right? I'm here to help you relax."

"It's just—it's been a while," says Steve, scrubbing his hands through his hair. "I've been with men and women before. I'm not ashamed of that. I just—I haven't been with _anyone_ since...since a long time ago."

Bucky gives Steve a gentle smile. "Don't worry about that. I won't judge. I'm going to try something to get you to relax. Tell me if you don't like it, and I'll stop."

"All right," says Steve.

Bucky traces the hard planes of Steve's muscles with his hands, mapping out the rigid tension in Steve's body. Most of it sits in his shoulders, so Bucky starts there first. He presses firm fingers into Steve's traps, moving in slow circles and listening to Steve's startled gasps transform into something deeper and more relaxed. Bucky continues to massage Steve's shoulders until he can't find any more knots, then follows up by peppering soft kisses on the places he just touched. "Is that good?" he asks.

"Yeah," Steve sighs. "Really good."

"I'm going to keep going, okay?"

Steve nods. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back as Bucky moves on to his neck. Steve's cock twitches as Bucky kisses the sensitive skin where Steve's beard stops, so Bucky does it again, adding in a little tongue and grinning when Steve's breath hitches.

Bucky worships every inch of Steve's skin from his neck to his belly, working his way down with his fingers, lips, and tongue. He spends a little extra time on Steve's pecs, gently squeezing the firm muscle his palms as he licks around Steve's nipples. Unlike other clients, Steve doesn't smell like three days' worth of body odor or an overwhelming slathering of cologne; his scent is fresh and clean, with just the faintest hint of sweat. Bucky wonders whether Steve took a shower in the truck stop before they started. At least it makes Bucky's job easier.

Bucky stops when his mouth is hovering right above Steve's cock. He takes a moment to grab a condom, add a little lube inside it, and carefully slide it over Steve's cock. "How are you feeling?" asks Bucky.

Steve makes a soft, questioning noise and glances at Bucky through half-lidded eyes. "Feels great," he murmurs. "Thank you."

Bucky's mouth quirks up into a smile. "Hey, the show isn't over yet. You just lie back and relax. I'll take good care of you."

Steve hums and drops his head back onto the mattress. Bucky pauses and considers for a moment, then wraps his lips around Steve's cock, gripping the base of it as he works his tongue against the rubber-covered shaft. Steve groans loudly, his hips jerking upward and his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. When Bucky pauses to take a breath, Steve pushes himself up onto his elbows and asks wildly, "Can I —can I touch you? Just – I won't grab or anything, I just want to—"

Bucky squeezes Steve's hand. "It's fine. You can touch me. I kind of like being petted, actually." Then he lowers his head and swallows Steve to the base.

Steve groans and pants, hesitantly placing a hand on top of Bucky's head before lying back down. He strokes Bucky's hair as Bucky pumps up and down on his cock. Bucky hums a little as Steve's breaths start to get irregular, and he listens carefully, pulling off when Steve's thighs start to tremble minutely.

"Do you want to finish things now or do you want to be inside me?" asks Bucky.

Steve blinks slowly. His pupils look dilated. "Inside, if that's still all right," he says in a hoarse voice.

"Sure," says Bucky, shooting Steve a small smile. "Give me a minute to prep myself."

"Can I…" Steve's voice trails off. "Can I watch?"

"Of course," says Bucky, undoing the button on his jeans. "I'm going to keep my shirt on, though, if that's okay."

"Whatever you want," says Steve.

Bucky tries to ignore the warmth that swells within him at Steve's easy acceptance. He quickly pulls off his sneakers, socks, jeans, and boxers, puts them in an easily accessible pile on the floor, and lubes up his finger. He lifts himself up on his knees and works the finger in slowly, then adds another, searching around his prostate. A spark of pleasure flies through him as he brushes it, and his cock jumps against his belly. Bucky glances at Steve, whose wide eyes are darting between Bucky's cock and fingers. "Like what you see?"

"Yeah," said Steve, breathing heavily. "I…I really do."

"You don't mind that I'm hard?" asks Bucky.

Steve shakes his head. "I like it."

"Me too," says Bucky, pumping his fingers in and out of himself slowly. He stifles a groan as he hits his prostate again, and then he wipes his fingers on his thighs and takes Steve's cock in his hand. "I'm ready," he says, "are you?"

"Yeah," says Steve. "Whenever you are."

Bucky sinks down onto Steve's cock slowly, taking the time to adjust to the increased girth. Steve's eyes widen almost comically with shocked pleasure as Bucky gets closer and closer to the base. When Bucky is fully seated, Steve groans softly and reaches up his arms. "Can I touch you?" he asks.

"Sure," says Bucky. "You don't have to ask."

A little line appears in Steve's brow. "But I want to. It's important."

"Okay," says Bucky, surprised and oddly moved. "Thanks."

Steve gently places large, callused hands on Bucky's hips. "Is this all right?"

Bucky nods. "Want me to start riding you?"

"Please," says Steve. "If you're ready."

"You got it," says Bucky with a wink. He carefully lifts himself up, letting Steve adjust his grip on his waist, and then he lowers himself back down, stifling a moan as he hits his prostate again. He tries it a few more times, slowly, checking to see that Steve's still enjoying himself. The open-mouthed gasps indicate that he is.

Bucky picks up the pace soon afterward, smiling a little as Steve's gasps turn into long, low groans. Steve's grip remains gentle even as his hips buck upward, driving his cock deeper into Bucky and hitting Bucky's prostate just right. Bucky grasps Steve's shoulders, stars sparking behind his eyes. He fights not to come as Steve pistons his hips frantically, chasing his own orgasm. Bucky starts to mutter words of encouragement as Steve's movements reach an almost inhuman pace. "Come on, yeah, yeah, fuck, Steve, fuck, you're almost there, come for me, come on—"

And then Steve's hands tighten the slightest bit around Bucky's hips, and Steve comes with a low grunt, his eyes screwed up tight, his jaw slack, his muscles straining and shining with sweat. The sight is enough to send Bucky rushing over the edge, and he lets out a high-pitched whimper as he spills all over Steve's chest and belly.

The hazy afterglow of orgasm fades quickly in the face of panic. "Oh shit, I am so sorry," says Bucky, looking around frantically for paper towels, napkins, anything that can help wipe up the mess. "I promise I'm clean. I get tested every six months. This doesn't normally happen—"

Steve makes a questioning noise and he opens his eyes. "What?" His gaze sharpens into something like horror. "Did I—did I hurt you? Are you okay?"

Bucky winces a little as Steve's cock slips out of him. "No, you didn't hurt me. It's just—I came all over you. I'm so sorry."

"Oh," says Steve, blinking and looking down at himself. "That. It's okay. It was an accident." Bucky doesn't bother telling him that it's against Bucky's personal policy to come with a client. "Um," Steve continues, "I think there are some wet wipes in the front…" He begins to lift himself up on his elbows, and Bucky cringes as some of the come starts to slide sideways towards the seat.

"Stay there, I'll get them," he tells Steve quickly. He crouches and roots around the console, digging past spare change and old receipts until he finally feels the shiny plastic packet bearing the wet wipes. They're unscented. Bucky carefully opens them and wipes Steve off, then does a perfunctory wipe of his own dick and ass before tossing it in the trash. The condom joins it a minute later, along with another wet wipe that Steve uses to clean off his own dick.

"All clean, no harm done," says Steve, smiling at Bucky. He turns over onto his side, giving Bucky a hopeful look. "I think you said something about…cuddling?"

"I did," says Bucky. "Let me just get my pants back on. I feel a little weird just wearing a shirt." He half-expects Steve to say something sleazy about taking off his shirt instead. Other clients might, but all Steve does is nod.

"Whenever you're ready," he says, opening a water bottle and taking a long sip. "You mind if I eat a protein bar?"

"Go ahead," says Bucky, pulling up his jeans and digging some mints out of his pocket. He pops a mint into his mouth, then washes it down with a new bottle of water that he gladly accepts from Steve. "Thanks."

"Of course."

Bucky caps the water and tucks his hair behind his ear, yawning. "Let's cuddle and sleep. How do you want me?"

"Um…" says Steve. He throws back the covers and lies back down on his side. "I looked up…there's this thing called spooning?" He says the last word like he's not totally sure what it means. "Like I said, it's been a while since I've been with anyone. But I think I'd like to be the big spoon?"

Bucky gives him a small smile. "That sounds good, Steve. I'll be your little spoon tonight."

"Did I say that right?" asks Steve, the line between his brows reappearing.

"Yeah," says Bucky, lying down and pressing his back against Steve's chest. Steve tentatively wraps an arm around Bucky's waist, then places his arm over the top of Bucky's pillow so that it's not in the way. "Yeah, that's perfect, you got it."

Steve's stiff posture relaxes, and he sighs against Bucky's shoulder. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" he asks. "You've done so much for me…hey, am I squeezing too tight?"

"Don't worry about it," says Bucky, gently squeezing Steve's hand. "I'm fine. You should relax and sleep. You need a good night's rest. Got a long drive tomorrow, right?"

"Right," says Steve. "But—y'sure? I want to make sure you're comfortable, too."

"Thanks," Bucky says quietly. "I'm sure." He exhales slowly, letting his body press more deeply into Steve's. It's not a bad feeling. "Good night, Steve."

"Good night, Jay."

* * *

Bucky jerks awake at sunrise thanks to the loud calls of the crows who like to visit the lot. Behind him, Steve snorts and grumbles, squinting as Bucky hustles to put on his shoes. "You all right?"

Bucky nods. He checks his phone and mentally curses. Not only is his phone almost out of batteries, but he's only got an hour before he needs to be at his second job. "I gotta go."

Steve sits up, rubbing his eyes. "You need a ride?"

"Nah," says Bucky, flashing him a quick smile. "I'll be fine."

"You can take a few protein bars if you're hungry."

Bucky pauses, struck once more by Steve's thoughtfulness. If this were any other client he would question their motivation, wonder if they have some sort of fetish for saving poor twinks off the street. But Steve doesn't seem to want to change Bucky in any way. He seems to just be a decent human being.

"Is everything all right?" asks Steve.

Bucky nods. "Um, yeah. Some protein bars would be great."

"Take a water bottle, too," says Steve, handing him an unopened one. "I can always get more."

"Thanks," says Bucky, a warm feeling in his chest.

"Thank _you_ , Jay. For everything."

Bucky nearly startles at the name. He pastes on a smile. "Not a problem, Steve. Any time." He clambers into the front and opens the door, pausing. "Hey," he says. He can't believe he's offering up this information—he'd never do this for any other client—but some part of him trusts Steve more than the others. "I—uh—I'm usually here every Wednesday night if you'd like to come by again sometime."

"Oh," says Steve, his eyes widening. "Okay."

"Yeah." Bucky shrugs awkwardly. "I mean, you don't have to or anything. But—if you wanted, and it's on your way…I thought I'd let you know."

Steve nods, exhaling on a long breath. "I'll remember that, Jay. Thank you again."

"Sure," says Bucky. "Have a good day."

Bucky hops out onto the pavement, squinting in the sunlight, and takes a deep, bracing breath. Then he half-walks, half-jogs eight blocks to the bus stop, counting down the eight minutes until it arrives. He spends the ride back to his apartment reflecting on the night. It's odd, but for the first time he feels almost proud of his off-the-books job. Steve had been so wound up, and so obviously in need of company, and Bucky had made him feel relaxed for a little while, maybe even feel cared for in a way he sorely needed.

Bucky lets that thought carry him through the rest of the day, all the way through his rushed commute and his unglamorous janitorial gig at a local office complex filled with over-stressed, underpaid workers. He doesn't even get angry when he accidentally gets in the way of some visiting corporate manager who treats him like he's less than dirt. He made a difference in someone's life last night; he made Steve feel better, and that feels good in a way that Bucky had forgotten.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be warned that this part fulfills the second half of the prompt. While I have not gone into graphic detail about the encounter between Bucky and the bad john, there are references to the rough treatment Bucky experienced.

Steve stops by again the next week, and the week after that, for the same package deal. Pretty soon, he's a regular. Bucky finds himself looking forward to Steve's visits. It's almost like he has a long-distance boyfriend instead of a regular client. It's a dangerous line of thought, but Bucky can't help it. He knows he shouldn't get so attached, but he gets so little happiness these days, he might as well take what he can.

Steve always pulls in on Wednesdays at 7:30 PM and invites Bucky to wait in the truck while he goes inside to clean up and buy supplies. He always pays Bucky upfront and adds an extra $20 ("for the massage," he insists, "I know that's an extra service"). He's always gentle, no matter what position they decide to try. Bucky most often ends up riding Steve, but one time they try having Bucky lie down with his legs resting on Steve's shoulders, and another time Bucky gets on his hands and knees, puts his head down against the mattress, and lets Steve pound into him from behind. It always feels good, but Bucky makes sure not to come; that's one line he doesn't want to cross again. He doesn't say no to the cuddling, though. He feels safe and relaxed in Steve's warm, soft embrace, even though he knows he shouldn't.

Two months pass. Bucky carefully squirrels away any money he earns into the bank account that connects to his debit card, which in turn connects to his credit card. He only leaves out enough cash to pay for any purchases connected to the truck stop, like his bus fare, but everything else he leaves a paper trail for in an effort to build up some credit. As Thanksgiving approaches, Bucky is surprised to find that he has a little something left over after paying for necessities and portioning away the usual amount for his sisters' college fund.

He spends a few days thinking over a gift he can get for his sisters. The Smiths provide well for them, and his sisters make some money on their own, but he knows Lizzie's been eyeing those concert tickets for that Korean pop boy band that won a Grammy in February. Josie's also a fan, though she's not as obvious about it. Becca will grumble and groan about having to chaperone them, but Bucky knows she'll secretly enjoy herself. Bucky decides to bring it up to them over their Thanksgiving break, which he'll be spending with them at the Smiths' house.

The Wednesday before Thanksgiving, Bucky's standing underneath the alcove of the truck stop, watching the freezing rain pour down in sheets. It's nearly 7:30, and he hopes Steve will show up soon. He's the only client Bucky is willing to come out for in this weather.

Half an hour passes. Bucky checks his phone, wrapping his jacket around himself as he texts each of his sisters, promising that he'll see them at the Smiths tomorrow morning. Lizzie responds with a grinning emoji, and Josie with a thumbs-up. Becca sends an actual response: _You better be, big bro, we've all got a lot to catch up on and we all miss you_. Bucky smiles. Even though he just saw them all two weeks ago, it's been a while since they've all had the time to sit down together and talk. Most of Bucky's visits consist of taking his sisters out for a quick coffee; they rarely involve an extended overnight stay.

"Hey, boy," says a voice on Bucky's left side. "You available?"

Bucky blinks and slowly turns to look at the man next to him. He's a little shorter than Bucky, but he's about fifteen years older, and his defensive stance screams ex-military. He's got dark hair, and his dark eyes are narrowed in suspicion. There's a creepy metal octopus pinned to the lapel of his leather jacket.

"You selling the goods?" asks the man, looking impatient.

"Um," says Bucky, looking out into the lot. The rain has just stopped, and the pavement looks wet and slushy. There's no sign of Steve's truck. Bucky's heart sinks. He doesn't need the money, not really, but he's already wasted half an hour here, so he might as well try to recoup the cost. "Yeah, actually. What would you like?"

"How much for a blowie?"

"Fifty dollars," Bucky answers.

The man's eyes drop to Bucky's mouth. "I guess you can charge pretty high with a mouth like that," he says with a smirk.

The hair on the back of Bucky's neck stands up. "Standard pricing," he answers coolly, straightening his shoulders. "Twenty for a handjob, one-hundred fifty for a fuck." He doesn't bother offering the overnight cuddle. "Protection required for all services," he adds with a glare.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," says the man. "I'll take a blowie and finish off with a fuck. Come on."

Bucky suppresses a sigh and follows the man to his truck, which is parked at the farthest corner away from the building. It's so dark that Bucky can't make out the words on the cab or the trailer. A little chill runs up his spine as he notices how empty the lot is. He briefly considers making a break for it, but he has a feeling that'll only make the guy angry. He might as well do the job and then get out. How bad can it be, anyway?

It's bad.

Bucky doesn't remember how he ends up inside a bathroom stall inside the truck stop's store, dry heaving over a toilet seat with tears tracking down his face. His gut keeps clenching up and he can't get enough air in his lungs to take a proper breath. There's two-hundred dollars in his back pocket, which he vaguely remembers picking up from the ground, but all he can focus on are the degrading names echoing in his head, spat at him with a mixture of hatred and disgust.

He nearly misses the footsteps approaching his stall. Bucky quickly clamps his jaw shut, listening intently. There's a beat of silence, and then: "Jay?"

It's Steve.

Bucky can't help the relief that rushes through him. Still, he freezes as Steve knocks lightly on the door. "Jay, is that you? Are you all right?"

"Yeah, it's me," said Bucky, hating how weak he sounds as he makes his way into a standing position. His knees ache, and so does his bum left arm, but worst of all is the pain in his ass. At least the guy had used protection, even if he skimped on the lube. "I'm fine, Steve. Don't worry about it."

"Oh," says Steve. "Okay. It's just—you didn't sound too great a minute ago. You sounded a little like you were having an asthma attack. I used to get them when I was younger."

Bucky wishes the explanation were that simple. He forces himself to take a few breaths as he grabs some toilet paper and tries to wipe off his face. He whimpers as he brushes his fingers against his jaw; it feels swollen, and he vaguely remembers the sting of a backhanded slap against his cheek. His body floods with sudden shame. He doesn't want Steve to see him like this, all roughed up by a client who thought he was nothing but a dirty whore. And that's what he is, right? He can pretend that Steve's kindness is genuine affection all he wants, but that'll never make it true.

"Jay?" Steve sounds worried now, and Bucky can't help the sob that escapes him. This kind, gentle, beautiful man deserves the world, and all Bucky will ever be able to give him is a massage and a nice fuck.

"…Jay? Jay, can you answer me? Let me know you're okay?"

Oh. Steve's been calling his name for…Bucky doesn't know how long. "Sorry," he says, and he winces at the hoarse tone. His throat is so sore he feels like he swallowed a cheese grater. "I'm—I'm okay."

"Okay," says Steve, and he sounds nervous. "Are you…um…look, I can go, but it'd really make me feel better if I saw you."

So that's what this is. Steve still wants his usual package deal, even if the time's later than normal. Bucky swipes at the tears leaking out of his eyes, suddenly furious at himself. He should have known better than to let himself believe that Steve was different somehow. Steve probably only looked for him because he wasn't in his usual spot in the lot.

Bucky takes a moment to get his breath under control, then slowly, painfully pastes a smile on his face and opens the stall door.

Steve's concerned frown greets him in the harsh white light of the bathroom. It deepens as he takes in Bucky's swollen, red-rimmed eyes, his mud-soaked jeans, his scraped palms, the bruise forming along his jaw. Steve makes an aborted movement with his hand, like he wants to reach out his hand but isn't sure if he's allowed. Very softly, he asks, "Jay, what happened?"

Bucky averts his gaze. "Another client," he mumbles. "I—I didn't think you were coming, so I took the job. Sorry. I can still…" He waves a hand. "I'll still give you the usual. I just need five minutes to clean up."

Steve shakes his head sharply. "No."

Bucky's cheeks burn with humiliation and he turns his face away. "Oh, okay. I—I understand. Sorry. I don't blame you for not wanting sloppy seconds." He manages another painful smile. "I'll, um, I'll just get out of your way then. I've heard that a few boys hang out at the bigger truck stop twenty miles south if you're looking—"

"Jay," says Steve firmly. "Please look at me."

Bucky does. He stands stock-still as Steve takes a step toward him. "You're hurt, Jay," says Steve, looking into Bucky's eyes. "It wouldn't be fair to ask you to work when what you really need to do is rest and recover. Can I take you to the hospital?"

Bucky makes a small, protesting noise and shakes his head. "No. I don't need a hospital. It's not that bad. And I can't afford—" He cuts himself off abruptly before he can reveal that he doesn't have health insurance. He can't even imagine what going to the ER would do to his bank account, and he needs the extra money to buy those tickets for his sisters, anyway. "I'll be fine."

"No hospitals," Steve says, holding his hands up. "In that case, at least let me help you clean up. I've got a first aid kit in the truck and a set of clean, dry clothes you can borrow. You can stay in the sleeper overnight, if you want. I won't expect anything. I won't even touch you if you don't want me to."

The offer is extremely tempting. With any other client he'd ask what their angle is, but Steve's never given him a reason to distrust him. "Okay," he says on an exhale. "Yes. That sounds good."

The tension leaches out of Steve's shoulders, and he gives Bucky a relieved smile. "I'll give you some privacy to wash up. I'm going to go buy a few things, and then I'll come back and wait for you outside the door."

"Okay," says Bucky.

Bucky uses the time alone to give himself a bird bath with soap and water, taking care to clean the cuts on his hands. He curses softly as he wets some paper towels and starts to scrape the mud off his jeans. He'd been planning to wear the same pair to the Thanksgiving meal tomorrow, but now he'll need to go back to his apartment and change into his spare.

Steve is waiting outside the bathroom door for him as promised. A plastic bag hangs from his wrist. He opens it up and shows Bucky the contents. Besides the usual protein bars and water bottles, it contains instant cold packs, antibacterial ointment, Q-tips, gauze, surgical tape, band-aids, alcohol wipes, unscented wet wipes, and facial tissues, and a little plastic, waterproof zipper pack in which he can store everything. "I've got most of these in the truck, but I thought I might as well give you your own kit to take back home," he explains.

"Thank you," says Bucky, surprised. Steve always thoughtfully provides his own supplies for sex, but this exceeds Bucky's expectations.

Steve nods. "I think we can make it back to the truck before the storm starts again."

Thunder claps just as Bucky shuts the door to the front passenger seat, and soon after, rain begins pelting the truck. Steve digs out a soft, worn pair of black sweatpants from one of the shelves, then climbs into the driver's seat and closes his eyes so Bucky can change in private. Bucky finds it a little funny, since Steve has seen him naked from the waist down several times now, but the gesture warms his heart nonetheless.

"I'm all dressed," Bucky says, scooting to one edge of the mattress. It hurts a little to sit, but the only thing that will help with that now is time. Bucky already checked himself there for injuries; fortunately, there were none.

Steve clambers over the console and digs through the bag of supplies. He grabs an instant cold pack, activate its, and then hands it to Bucky. "Put that on your jaw," he says.

Bucky presses the pack against his face, sighing a little as the cold soothes some of the ache. He holds out his hand as directed, watching Steve apply ointment to the cuts on his palms. Steve carefully searches for the appropriately sized band-aids that will cover the cuts most efficiently, and then he wraps surgical tape around some of the ones placed in tricky spots so that they won't come off. Bucky carefully holds the cold pack between two fingers as his other hand receives the same treatment.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" asks Steve.

"I think everything else just needs a little time," says Bucky, shrugging. He flinches as pain jolts through his left deltoid. It doesn't escape Steve's notice. Bucky sighs and transfers the cold pack to the scarred spot over his shirt. "Old injury. It acts up sometimes. It's not in the most convenient place."

Steve's brow furrows. "Hang on. I've got something that can, um…" He stands up and rummages around the shelf, then pulls out a brown leather harness that wouldn't be out of place in a bondage dungeon. Bucky raises his eyebrows, watching Steve loosen the buckles and detach one of the straps. "I'll wrap this around the pack so it'll stay in place. That way you won't have to choose between your shoulder and your jaw."

Bucky holds still as Steve crosses the strap over Bucky's left shoulder, down his chest in a diagonal line, and up again across his back. The gesture is strangely intimate, and he can't help flushing a little as Steve's fingers brush against his skin. "Is it holding?" asks Steve softly, his breath tickling Bucky's ear.

"Yeah," Bucky breathes.

"Good." Steve searches Bucky's face for a minute, but he must not find what he's looking for, because he clears his throat and pulls back. "We can take off the strap before you sleep." He hands Bucky another cold pack, which Bucky dutifully activates and places against his jaw, and then he half-stands and gestures to the mattress. "Go ahead and get comfortable. I can move up front. Or, um, stay here. Whatever you want."

The words tumble out of Bucky before he can stop them. "I'd like to cuddle." He squeezes his eyes shut, turning red in embarrassment. "You won't have to pay or anything. I just—it'd feel—it'd be really nice right now after the night I've had."

Steve gives him a small smile. "It's not a chore, Jay. I like cuddling too. Do you want me to be the big spoon?"

Bucky nods.

Steve kicks off his shoes, but he keeps his pants and shirt on as he lies down on his side, his back up against the padded wall. Bucky cautiously stretches out alongside him, putting most of his weight on his right shoulder, and re-positions himself until he can comfortably hold the cold pack against his jaw. As soon as he stops shifting, Steve tentatively wraps an arm around his waist. "Is this good?"

"Yeah," Bucky murmurs, relaxing against him with a soft sigh.

"Should I put something on to watch?"

"Okay."

Steve reaches over and grabs the remote on top of the fridge, opening up Netflix with a couple quick movements. "I've been working my way through _Star Trek_ ," says Steve. "Everyone told me I should watch it after I came back from – um…after I got discharged from the service. I like it so far."

Bucky doesn't comment on Steve's slip-up. "Which series are you on? _The Next Generation_ 's my favorite, but I grew up watching _Deep Space Nine._ "

"That's the one. _The Next Generation._ Is that okay?"

"Sure," says Bucky.

Bucky drifts off to the familiar sound of Captain Picard's voice mixed with the gentle patter of rain. Steve's warmth surrounds him like a soothing, gentle embrace. A soft kiss brushes against his forehead just before he falls asleep.

* * *

The insistent buzzing of a cell phone wakes Bucky. It takes him a moment to realize that it's coming from the pocket of his own jeans. He grunts and throws off the blanket on top of him, digging his phone out. The vibration sends weird little tremors up his bandaged hands. He sits up sharply as he sees Becca's name flashing on the screen, and he quickly swipes his finger to answer the call. "Becks?" he says. "Hey, what's up?"

"Hey, big bro. Where are you? I thought you said you were going to be here at 11:15 or so? You're half an hour late. Did the train get stuck? I checked the MTA website and there's nothing about any delays, but it can be a little slow to update, but then I checked Twitter which is faster, and there's nothing there, either. Are you okay?"

Bucky's heart races, and he scrubs his eyes, thinking fast. "Um—sorry. I had to pick up something last-minute at the store—" Becca groans, and Bucky knows she's about to start a lecture about how it's inhumane for employers to require their employees to come in on a federal holiday, so he quickly says, "It was from the, uh, bodega around the corner. I told Mr. Patel that he should take the day off"—he winces and sends a silent apology to Mr. Patel, who always treats Bucky kindly—"but he told me that he gets his best business on Thanksgiving Day since so many other stores are closed. I'll, uh. I'll be there as soon as I can. In an hour, tops, I promise."

"An _hour_?" Becca asks incredulously. "Jeez, Bucky. How much longer do you need?"

"Well, you know…missing ingredient and all. I gotta, um—finish baking the mac and cheese, and my oven's kinda slow to heat."

Becca groans. "Just bring it over to bake at the Smiths' house, they won't mind. Besides, it's better to carry it cold than hot, right?"

Bucky bites his lip. "Right. Okay, Becks."

"Okay, good. I'll let everyone know you're on your way. See you soon."

Bucky drops his head in his hands. "Shit, shit, shit," he mutters, rubbing his forehead and trying to work out a plan. It's 11:50, and by the time he makes it to the bus stop, there won't be any more buses running since they're stopping service at noon. He'll have to take a taxi back to his apartment. It'll cost him an arm and a leg, but it's the only way he can get back.

There's a rustle behind him. "Jay?"

Bucky jumps and turns around. Steve's pushing himself up into a sitting position, his long, slicked-back hair mussed in a somewhat adorable bedhead.

"Is everything okay?"

Everything is very much not okay, but Bucky isn't going to say that to a client, even if the client is Steve. He smiles weakly and starts to brush dry mud off his jeans. "Everything's fine. I gotta go."

"Hey," says Steve, "I—I couldn't help overhearing some of your conversation. Do you need a ride to—um, wherever you need to go?"

Bucky pauses. He definitely needs to go back to his apartment to change and pick up the mac and cheese in his fridge, and a ride would certainly help. But a big semi truck like Steve's probably won't even fit under the overpass, much less be able to maneuver the narrow streets of his neighborhood.

"I—um, I can call in a favor, get a regular-sized vehicle," says Steve, apparently thinking along the same lines as Bucky. "The trailer's empty, anyway, I've already made all my deliveries. I…I just came here to see you." Steve blushes. "I—I always come back here to see you. S.I. doesn't mind that I take the extra stop. I tell them I'm getting some rest, and it's technically true. Anyway, I'm pretty sure I can leave the truck in the lot for a few hours. I'll work it out with them."

Bucky blinks, processing. He knows that he should absolutely say no, that this is a stupid idea, that he shouldn't let a client near his apartment in any way, but—he thinks of how much faster he could get home, how he's already running late for Thanksgiving with his sisters, how he'll have to get a ride out from this truck stop anyway. In every interaction he's had so far Steve has been nothing but respectful. If Steve wanted to hurt him or kill him, this would be a hell of a long con. Maybe it's a little creepy that Steve goes out of his way to see him, but now is not the time or place to think about that. Right now, he's got somewhere to be and a limited amount of time to get there.

Bucky exhales slowly and swallows, hoping he's not making a mistake. "Okay. Okay—yeah. A ride in a, um, regular car would be great. I'll pay you back somehow, I promise."

"You don't owe me anything," says Steve, pulling his own cell phone out of his pocket. "I don't mind at all. I want to do this for you." He starts to scroll through his contacts list, and Bucky climbs into the front passenger seat to give him a modicum of privacy. Still, he can't help listening to Steve's end of the conversation.

"Hey, Tony? Yeah, it's me—yes, Steve, yes, the very same. Oh, uh—maybe? I wasn't planning on…hey, can you shut up and listen to me for a second? Can you send a car out to my location? No, there's nothing wrong with the truck, I just…uh…I'm doing a favor for a friend. No, I'm not telling you who they are. No, don't you dare—thank you, Pepper, I completely agree. Privacy is important."

Steve clears his throat. "The truck? I'll leave it in the lot and come back for it later, I know you can keep an eye on it. A _helicopter_? No, Tony, absolutely not, that's the opposite of discreet!" Steve huffs and rolls his eyes. "Thank you, Pepper. Yes, that's acceptable. Yes, thank you. Okay. Fifteen minutes? Great." Steve sighs and pushes his hair off his forehead. "Okay, Tony, I'll stop by the Tower afterward. Yes, and I'll be at dinner. Black tie, great. Oh, joy, a reunion? I can't wait. Sarcasm? Me? Never. Yes, I'll be there, I promise. Okay, bye."

Steve blows out a long breath and turns to look at Bucky. "I'm guessing you heard most of that."

"Yeah," says Bucky slowly. "Tony and Pepper? You don't mean Tony Stark and Pepper Potts, the former and current CEOs of Stark Industries?"

Steve turns red. "You got me. That's them. We're…friends, in a way."

Bucky stares at him. "I don't know many truck drivers who are friends with the billionaires that head the company they work for."

Steve fidgets. "Before I became a driver, I was a…I guess you could say I was in special forces. Tony and I worked together on a, um, a couple of, um, top-level classified projects. But—after a while, I decided I didn't want to be doing that kind of work anymore. I just wanted to live a simpler life. So I…I offered to be a driver. Tony pretty much refused to accept it, but Pepper understood, and she's technically the boss, so she—she set me up to get the right training and offered me a position. So, here I am."

It sounds unbelievable, and there are obviously gaps in the story, but Bucky doesn't push. He knows what it's like to keep secrets. "Okay," he says.

Steve glances up at him, looking uncomfortable. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier. I know it's kind of…strange."

"You had no reason to," says Bucky with a small shrug. "Fifteen minutes, you said?"

Steve nods, obviously relieved at the change in subject. "Yeah, Tony's sending a car out to us. Pepper promised it would be discreet."

Bucky changes back into his jeans and puts his shoes on while Steve runs inside to take care of nature's call. Bucky makes a quick stop to the restroom as well, then stands with Steve in awkward silence in the parking lot, eating protein bars and drinking water. A black Subaru pulls into the lot ten minutes later. Steve checks his phone and quietly says, "That's us."

Bucky takes a deep breath and looks up at the overcast sky, hoping it won't be the last view he ever has of it. He wraps the bag of first-aid supplies around his wrist and warily follows Steve to the car. "You can take shotgun," Steve offers, already opening one of the back doors and climbing into the backseat. "Oh, hey, Happy. I hope Tony's paying you double for this."

"It's fine, Cap," says the driver, tipping his hand in a salute. "How are you doing?"

"Just fine, thank you," says Steve. "Please, call me Steve."

"Who's your friend?"

Bucky hesitates a moment and gets into the front passenger seat. "Um, hi. I'm…I'm Jay."

Happy gives him a once-over, his expression unreadable. "Nice to meet you, Jay. Where to, boys?"

"Jay?" Steve asks quietly.

"Um," says Bucky. He rattles off the address to Mr. Patel's bodega. It's pretty close to his apartment, but at least it's not exactly where he lives.

"We'll go there first to drop off Jay," says Steve, his voice all military command. "Then I'll go visit Tony at the Tower."

"You got it," says Happy.

Bucky stares out the window throughout the thirty-five-minute entire ride. The tension in the car is suffocating, and with each passing minute he becomes more and more aware of how his relationship with Steve has irrevocably changed. Maybe if he'd left at sunrise like usual, he and Steve could still keep up the façade of a regular Wednesday night appointment, but after this? The boundaries have blurred too much. He doesn't think he can ever see Steve as a client ever again, which means he can't ever see Steve again.

It hurts more than he expected.

Bucky's surprised to see that Mr. Patel's bodega is indeed open. At least his excuse to Becca wasn't exactly a lie. "Is this the right place?" asks Happy, cutting a glance at Bucky.

"Yeah," says Bucky, opening the door. "This is the easiest drop-off point."

Happy makes a noncommittal noise. "All right. Nice to meet you. Happy Thanksgiving."

"Thanks," says Bucky quietly. "You too."

Steve steps out of the car with Bucky, his hands in his pockets. Bucky swallows the lump in his throat and meets his gaze. "Thanks for – for everything, Steve. Last night and this morning. I—I guess I'll be seeing you around. Maybe."

Steve glances back at the car. Happy is fiddling with his phone, pretending he's not paying attention to them. Steve takes a deep breath and slowly, hesitantly takes Bucky's hand, stroking his thumb against Bucky's knuckles. "I—I know this might be totally inappropriate, but—would you like to go on a date with me? A real one. Not for sex, or money, or anything—just—to get to know each other, as equals."

Bucky's eyes widen. He stares at Steve, struck speechless. Out of all the endings to his and Steve's story, this was not one he'd ever foreseen.

Steve shifts uncomfortably. "Sorry. There's—there's no pressure at all. If you never want to see me again, I can stay away, too. I know we don't, uh, know each other that well. And you have no reason to want to see me outside of a…a, uh, professional context. But I –" Steve runs a hand through his hair nervously. "You're the first person in a long time who's made me feel like—like it's okay to just be me. And I'm not saying that's your responsibility, or anything, because that's unfair to dump on you. And it's not just about that. You're…you're very good at your job, Jay, but you're more than that. I'd…I'd like to get to know you better, if you'll have me."

Bucky closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. "I don't know right now." He steels his resolve and meets Steve's gaze. "I, I can't—there are—there are so many things I have to consider."

Steve nods. "Okay," he says. "I understand." He doesn't seem disappointed or angry—he merely seems accepting of Bucky's choices, as usual.

Bucky exhales. "Wait. Take your phone out."

Steve does with a bemused look.

Bucky gives Steve his email address—the one that's not associated with his real name. "That's the best way to contact me for now," he says, watching Steve input it into his phone. "If you send me an email, I promise I'll respond. Just…give me some time. A couple weeks tops."

Steve nods, his mouth curving in a hopeful smile. "Okay. I'll see you around, Jay. Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving, Steve."

Bucky watches the Subaru disappear around the corner, and then he walks back to his apartment in a daze, his thoughts going a million miles a minute. He showers, changes his clothes, and commutes to the Smiths on autopilot, clutching the mac and cheese he made last night, and pastes a smile on his face as he approaches the front door of the Smiths' residence.

Becca answers the door. "There you are!" she says in an exasperated tone. Then she does a double-take, her eyes widening as she takes a closer look at his haggard appearance. "Oh my God, Bucky. What happened?"

"Hey, Becks," he says quietly. "Can you get Josie and Lizzie for me? I need to talk to you all about something."

* * *

Wednesday, November 22, 2018, 12:30 PM

From: Steve <StevenGrant1918@gmail.com>

To: Jay <TheWinterSoldier1998@hotmail.com>

> Hi Jay,
> 
> This is Steve. I'm glad I was able to help you out last night and this morning. I wanted to establish a point of contact. I'd like to get to know you better, if you're willing. I will respect whatever decision you make.
> 
> I hope you have a happy Thanksgiving.
> 
> Best,
> 
> Steve

-

Tuesday, November 28, 2018, 11:58 PM

From: J <TheWinterSoldier1998@hotmail.com>

To: Steve <StevenGrant1918@gmail.com>

> Hi Steve,
> 
> This is Jay. I'm responding as promised.
> 
> I'd like to give this a shot and get to know you better, too. Would you like to get dinner tomorrow night? I know a diner that sells incredible burgers and milkshakes. You can meet me at the bodega where you dropped me off. I'll be free from 6 PM onward. Just let me know what time is good for you.
> 
> My real name is James, but you can call me Bucky.
> 
> Take care,
> 
> Bucky

-

Wednesday, November 29, 2018, 7:06 AM

From: Steve <StevenGrant1918@gmail.com>

To: Bucky <TheWinterSoldier1998@hotmail.com>

> Bucky,
> 
> I will meet you at 6:30 PM in front of the bodega. See you then. I'm looking forward to it.
> 
> Best,
> 
> Steve

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by Vienna Teng's beautiful song ["Recessional"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AGKicxfFtsw). Even if the song isn't available to listen to in your region, take a look at the lyrics in the description.
> 
> sarahcakes613 made an awesome [moodboard](https://sarahcakes613.tumblr.com/post/185509529741/felt-inspired-to-make-a-moodboard-for-a-lovely-fic) for this fic! Click the link and give the moodboard some love!
> 
> Vice did a great [photojournalism article](https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/xd77gq/photos-from-inside-the-cabs-of-long-distance-truckers-001) on the vehicles of American long-distance truck drivers. I used these photos as a reference for Steve's sleeper cab.
> 
> A comment or kudos is always appreciated!
> 
> You're always welcome to come say hello:  
> [Tumblr](https://dragongirlg-fics.tumblr.com/) | [Dreamwidth](https://dragongirlg.dreamwidth.org/) | [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/dragongirlg)


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